In the temporal arts of literature and music the same effect is gained by quite different means. Here the elements are not presented simultaneously, spread out for the attention to wander from and revert to at will. Each is presented but for a moment, after which it exists only in the memory. Nevertheless all literature and music worthy the name of art give us, in common with the spatial arts, the sense of symmetrical shape, of ordered profusion. Though we are aware of each single lineament but for an instant, after which it is supplanted by the next, yet we know that all combine into just as complete and satisfying a scheme as that of the well-designed statuary group, the well-composed picture, or the well-proportioned building. This consciousness of form or design in a series of momentary impressions, on which all the high æsthetic value of the temporal arts depends, is made possible to us by our mental powers of memory and recognition. Literature and music deal with memorable units, which are repeated. Familiarity with their methods quickly accustoms us to expect the repetitions; whereupon there arises a succession of expectations, followed by their fulfilments, by which the so fleeting impressions are arranged in our minds in a fixed and satisfying order. And so arises the sense of beauty in the contemplation of a poem or a piece of music. In poetry two different modes of repetition are utilized, each arousing its own peculiar expectation, which combines with its fulfilment to give the sense of order. The first mode is that of metrical repetition, the establishment and reiteration of a certain scheme of accentuation of syllables practically equal in duration. In heroic verse, for example, the scheme is a succession of ten syllables, every alternate one accented, and beginning with an unaccented. When a single line of this sort is heard, it forms a pattern in the mind, and arouses an expectation of another of the same sort. The fulfilment of the expectation gives rise to the sense of form. In rhymed verse, a second kind of repetition is added to this fundamental metrical one, namely, the repetition of the terminal sound of the line. When we read “’Tis not enough no harshness gives offence,” the obviously regular character of it in respect of accent leads us to expect very confidently another line of the same metrical structure; and our familiarity with rhyme disposes us to think it highly probable that the new line will moreover end with a sound similar to the final one in “offence;” so that when the line comes--“The sound must seem an echo to the sense,”--it fulfils both of our expectations, and we get a double sense of design in it. The rhythm, or reiteration of the metrical scheme, is supplemented by the rhyme, or repetition of the terminal sound. In the more complex forms of verse the two schemes of design not only become far more subtle in their single application, but are made to cooperate and